Why We Ride

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Mark Barnes PhD. Why We Ride
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For Dylan, the best riding buddy ever.
Dylan in mid-adolescence, with a used bike we rebuilt together from the ground up—and on which he eventually rode faster than his teacher.
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By dusk, I’d finally made it to the end point of my interstate droning: New Market, Virginia. There, I’d at least gain the relief of switching to a nice curvy road (US-211) through some mountains on the last leg of my journey; finally, I’d be moving around on the bike. SuperHawks are gas guzzlers with small tanks, so I topped mine off—just to be safe. You never know what you’ll run into in uncharted territory. And, this way, I might be able to save a gas stop the next morning. After all, it had become abundantly clear that I needed as much rest as possible. I congratulated myself on this forethought.
The first couple of twisty miles were indeed refreshing. Although I was physically shot, the change of pace and scenery restored some of my mental acuity. The sunset was beautiful as I entered the dense forest at the mountain’s base. But as I asked my bike to climb the first rise, it balked. Kind of a burp/hiccup/backfire that sounded totally unfamiliar. Moments later, a miss, and then another. When I opened the throttle quickly, a cacophony arose from the engine bay like a jackhammer duet. I went easy. Great! A breakdown was the last thing I needed now. I’d miss my tour, have to get my lame bike home, and sleep in the wilderness on what was fast becoming a very chilly night.
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